In The Grave

Sixteen

I learned at the age of sixteen that I could never trust or underestimate the man who was my dad.

It was a random day of the week, the usual awkward, silent car ride to school, and just moments before stopping the car to let me out, he turned to me.

"Are you're mom and John a thing?"

He might as well have hit me across the face.  That's what it felt like.

I wish I could;'ve seen my own face as it turned to pity for him, in a petty way.

"No."

My mom's best friend since high school, and former boyfriend of maybe only a number of months, John. He knew me before my dad did, he was one of the best people in my life. One of two real father figures. A man who would never hurt me the way this man did.

He was jealous of the friendship, jealous of the way they spoke on the phone almost everyday about normal things. Was convinced in his own mind that there was some sort of affair going on, and that I somehow would be involved in keeping the secret from him.

I was appalled.

"Okay, well don't tell your mom I asked you about this. You will only cause problems for me and her."

He sent me on my way to school that morning. Installing that in my mind for me to carry like a dead weight. Eventually that's what it felt like.

I kept that small interaction and words a secret for about eight months. I became distant, beside myself, cried many nights to sleep. Still having to also endure the sounds of the arguments going on in my home between them.

My anxiety became a real problem during this time, everyone seemed to notice at school, but I always put on an act once I had to go back home.

I was doing it to protect my mom and only my mom. I knew she would've been upset at him for doing this to me, but I already saw the stress she was going through on her own as well. Why was I going to make it worse? I slept less, I was only thinking and going through my days like a robot.

Mathew noticed too, I wasn't as engaged in the daily group meeting in the hallway. And out after school conversations became shorter on my end.

There was eventually a single night while I lay in the dark and text him like I usually did. That it slipped. I slipped. I spilled out everything to him, and sobbed as silently as I could so that nobody would hear me. I was listening to music on my iPod at the time. The song came up.

I remember his message so distinctly because it might have been one of the things to save me in the long run.

We had talked about how we both had a love for Coldplay in a previous conversation of many. And now he took the opportunity to show me he was listening.

"Remember the song? That's what I will do. I will fix you. Just listen to the song."

When I finally had cried myself to my slumber, I fell asleep a bit more at peace than I'd had in months.

I knew he'd been the one to save me after all the pain I'd endured, all the betrayal, all the hurt.

He was my best friend from this very moment. He was the one person I knew who wanted to help me, could see me drowning and see the way I was at a loss. How I was just watching myself drown and letting it happen. Hoping every night I'd fall asleep and wouldn't wake up anymore.

I was fearful the next time I knew I had to see him in person at school. Embarrassed?

I'd done the one thing I preached I'd never need to do, vent. Tell someone what I was feeling and going through, I had lied to myself again. Even convinced myself I'd never need to talk things out.

I considered myself a bottle, to be filled and filled and it would never become full. But I guess deep down I even knew that was a lie.

So here we are, meeting in the hallway that Monday morning, and I didn't know how I should act. Like nothing had ever happened? Like he didn't know anything? Even though he knew everything.

He smiled at me, not giving me a look of sympathy, but a genuine smile.

We hugged in that friendly, sideways sort of way. And continued on down the hall, talking about random things we both loved and had a passion for. We didn't have to speak of my break that night because we both knew in silent terms that it was something that might have been needed. I knew I could trust him. I knew he'd be in my life for a good reason, maybe even the only reason.

I was sixteen, young but being forced to grow older, I just didn't know it yet.

Classes got harder to focus in, my anxiety being kicked to new heights and my internal struggle was being pushed to the point of no return.

I was cracking.

I started to lose my appetite some days, and others I was feeling sick to my stomach for no reason at all.

My skin began to itch, so I scratched and scratched till my skin started to come apart.

My sleep non existent. My eyes tired from the endless number of nights staying awake and crying into my pillows.

I really was cracking.